A Deviant Psyche
by nayahasmyheart
Summary: Santana has been ridiculed by her peers and raped by her father all throughout her childhood. She is contemplating suicide when Brittany, almost too perfect to be real, falls into her life.
1. Daddy Loves Me

Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you.

Daddy loves me?

I sat on my bed and looked down at my homework. What was the point in even doing it? I already knew all of the material.

That was a question I asked myself a lot lately—what's the point? What's the point in getting up in the morning? What's the point in getting dressed? What's the point in eating, going to school, learning? What's the point in living?

I was miserable. I hated going to school because I had no friends. Kids at school would mock me, tell me I was weird, stare at me like I was insane. They called me Crazy Pezzy. The maddening thing was that I didn't even know why. I had never done anything wrong to them. I was the kid who was singled out by everyone for being a little different. A little peculiar.

It wasn't always like this. I had lots of friends in kindergarten and first grade. Then, in second grade, everything changed. My mother passed away. My world was crushed.

The night of my mother's funeral, my daddy came into my room. He was intoxicated and depressed. He said he needed someone to love him.

It _really_ hurt the first time. I was hysterical. I begged him to stop. He didn't. He just kept saying, in between thrusts, "Shhh, baby… Daddy loves you."

I didn't go to school that next morning. I didn't eat. I only got out of bed to go to the bathroom, where I was horrified to see the giant black bruises on the insides of my thighs. By the time night rolled around, my eyes were too dry to produce tears and my body too numb to feel the excruciating cramps.

I remember how my body shivered violently as I heard my daddy's heavy boots approaching my room. I remember how I buried my head under my pillow and silently wished for my mother to come back and stop him. I remember the helpless sob that came out of me when the door creaked open. I remember the physical pain he inflicted on me. But, most of all, I remember the mental scarring.

I caved in. I would go to school, but I wouldn't really be there. Teachers had to call my name several times for me to hear them. I distanced myself from my friends. I would sit outside of the school for hours because I dreaded going home.

No one paid much attention. They all thought, "Oh, it's natural. She's just lost her mother. It'll pass."

But it didn't pass. Even today, ten years later, I still break down in the middle of the school and cry. Along the way, I earned the heartless "nickname" Crazy Pezzy. Naturally, everything got better in high school, where they decided it would be ingenious to sell slushies. No one actually drank them. I would get a slushie facial at least once a week.

As for my father, he still came into my room at nights. But it was different now. I understood him. He loved me. It was all for the better.

I sighed and looked at my watch. 7:30 A.M. It was time to get ready for school.

I rolled off of my bed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was horridly skinny and my eyes looked despondent. I shook my head and got dressed.

When I got to school, I walked straight to my AP Calculus class. The classroom was empty except for the teacher, Mrs. Burmingham. She was my favorite teacher. The only person who actually made an effort to understand me. She smiled at me pleasantly as I walked to my seat, her deep green eyes twinkling.

"How are you, Santana?" she asked gently.

"I'm okay," I replied coyly.

"Do you need help on the homework?"

"Oh, um, no, I understand it."

She beamed. "Of course you do. You're my brightest student."

I felt my face getting hot as I smiled down into my chest. "Thanks," I muttered.

The first bell rang, and students began to walk into the classroom with unsatisfied expressions on their faces. Everyone hated this class. Everyone but me.

Once everybody was seated, Mrs. Burmingham cleared her throat and began the lesson. Today, we were learning about differential equations. Easy stuff.

After the lecture was over, we were given the last twenty minutes of class to work on our homework. A girl in the seat to my right, I think her name was Quinn Fabray, turned to me.

"Do you have a calculator? I forgot mine at home and I need to know what 1936 divided by 36 is."

"It's 484 over 9," I said quietly.

Quinn stared at me. She turned to another desk and borrowed someone else's calculator. After typing in a few numbers, she raised her eyes to look at me in bewilderment.

"How did you do that?" she demanded.

"Do what?" I asked quizzically.

"How did you do that math in your head?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. It just…comes to me."

Quinn shook her head in disbelief and turned back to her paper.

Great. Another person thinks that I'm bonkers.

When the bell rang, I gathered my things and left the room. My next class was P.E., so I walked outside to the field.

Suddenly, a large figure blocked my path. I looked up to see one of the football jocks smirking at me.

"Hey, Crazy Pezzy… So I was thinking the other day, 'You know what? That Crazy Pezzy girl is actually pretty hot.' So I figured we should get it on."

I tried to walk around him, but his friends blocked my way. What do they want from me?

"Listen," the leader continued. "You sleep with me, and you'll be the most popular girl in school. Don't you want that?" he gripped my shoulder.

I don't remember what happened next. My vision became as red as blood. I felt my arms move, my nails dig paths in his skin. I felt my legs carry me away, far away.

By the time I regained my vision and ability to comprehend my surroundings, I was almost home. I looked down at my hands. There was skin and blood under my nails. I held back a gag as I ran home to wash them out.

I lay down on my bed and wept. Why me? Why couldn't they pick on someone else for once? What did I ever do to deserve this?

I heard the floor creak behind me. I turned around to see my father looking at me affectionately. His long hair was held behind his ears and his plaid shirt stank of alcohol.

"Daddy's gonna make everything better, baby," he said as he unzipped his pants.

He leaned over me, removed my pants and underwear, and thrust his pelvis. I closed my eyes.

Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you.

Daddy loves me.


	2. An Unexpected Angel

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word_

_Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

I lay in my bed and gaped at the ceiling. Looming shadows danced on the walls. My blanket covered everything but my eyes.

_And if that mockingbird won't sing_

_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring_

I snapped my head to the left, wide-eyed. Was there someone outside my window?

_And if that diamond ring turns brass_

_Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass_

The white curtains fluttered in the wind. Something was moving in the grass.

_And if that looking glass gets broke_

_Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat_

My body shook fiercely. Warm tears streamed down my face.

_And if that billy goat won't pull_

_Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull_

A twig cracked in half right outside my window. I yelped and pulled my blanket over my eyes.

_And if that cart and bull fall down_

_You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town_

Silence.

* * *

><p>I woke up with a start. I inhaled shakily and turned off my alarm clock.<p>

I looked down at my aching arms. They were covered in thin red scratch marks. I sighed. Why do I always get so scared at night?

Shaking my head, I threw off my blanket and walked to the bathroom.

After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I grabbed my things and left for school. The freezing air burned my face and my breath emanated white clouds.

After about twenty minutes of walking through residential areas, I arrived at school. The building stood white and elevated in the misty morning. An American flag waved in the wind and a large sign by the front doors read: "Welcome to the William McKinley High School!" A tall, marble statue of former president William McKinley stood by the sign, his face stern and his eyes vacant.

I pulled open the glass front doors and entered the comforting warmth of the hallway. Gloomy students searched their lockers, heavy-lidded. I walked to my AP Calculus class. As always, Mrs. Burmingham was the only person in the room. She smiled at me warmly as I entered.

"Hey, Santana. I was wondering when you'd show up." She brushed her long, brown hair aside. "I wanted to show you something."

I looked at her questioningly and walked to her desk. Her olive eyes scanned me, and she said, "I overheard you and Quinn conversing the other day. I was very impressed by the way you were able to solve that problem in your head."

I averted my eyes and let a little smile appear on my face. "Thanks."

"I wanted to see if you can do this in your head."

I looked down at the paper she was showing me. A simple equation was written on it: The square root of 272 over 5 plus the square root of 425 over 9 equals…

I looked up. The numbers flew into my vision and moved around until they solved themselves.

"61 root 17 all over 45," I said with quiet confidence.

Mrs. Burmingham gazed at me, her head slightly cocked to one side. "That's right," she said in an awed tone. She smiled. "I have a genius in my class."

"What—no—I'm not," I stammered. I became uncomfortable as she continued smirking at me.

"You're humble. But you really are quite brilliant."

I blushed into my shirt. Extreme relief swept me when the bell rang and I had an excuse to walk back to my desk.

I thought about what she told me. Me? Brilliant? I'd never thought of it that way before. I had always been able to solve complicated problems in my head. But I always thought other people could, too.

After fifty minutes, the bell rang to let us out to our next classes. I slithered my arms into the straps of my backpack and walked out into the hallway. I was heading to my next class, English, when a girl in a Cheerios uniform situated herself in my path. I looked up at her face. Her dyed dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and her eyes, black as coal, twinkled cruelly.

"Hey, freak. I saw what you did to my boyfriend, Jake. I don't appreciate maniacs clawing at my man." She pushed me into the lockers behind me. The people who were standing around us turned their heads, eager to see a fight.

I quickly walked around her, trying to hide my fear.

"Don't you fucking walk away from me!" she screeched. She grabbed my backpack and threw me to the ground. Helpless, I crawled up in a ball and tried to defend myself against her merciless kicks.

"Hey, hey! What's going on here?" I heard a man's voice yell. The kicks stopped. I looked up to see Mr. Schuester, the Spanish and Glee teacher, holding the Cheerio's arm. "To the principal's office. Now."

She yanked her arm free and, rolling her eyes, walked in the opposite direction. Mr. Schuester bent down over me and offered me his hand. I took it and was helped back to my feet.

"Are you okay?" he said worriedly.

I nodded and turned around. I entered the girls' bathroom down the hall and locked myself in a stall. I cried my heart out, sitting on the toilet seat.

That's it. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't face the bullies and the nights and my daddy's love. I made a silent vow. It ends now. I will take my own life and rid my worthless self of this world.

I heard the door of the bathroom open and shut. I could hear footsteps approaching my stall.

"Hello?" a delicate female voice called.

I didn't answer. Whoever she is, I'm sure she doesn't care. Just like everybody else.

"Hello? Can you please come out of the stall?"

"Why?" I sniffed.

"Because I want to talk to you," the girl said sweetly.

I could see her shoes, blue Converse, under the door. After a few moments, I stood up and opened the stall.

She had striking blue eyes and long blonde hair. She looked at me affectionately.

"Hi, I'm Brittany. You're Santana, right?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Nice to meet you. I saw what that girl did . Why are they all so mean to you?"

"I don't know," I said quietly. My eyes were still puffy.

She gazed at me as if I were an interesting museum exhibit. Then she reached out her arms and pulled me into a hug.

I was initially surprised, but when she didn't let go, I decided to hug her back. Her strong arms were so comforting.

She stroked my hair. "I'm here. Everything's going to be better now."


	3. Utopia

After our first encounter, Brittany and I parted ways to go to our classes. My body still ached from the kicks as I walked to my English class. When I opened the door, every student turned his or her head to stare at me. Some mournfully and others hatefully. The teacher, Mr. Johnson, a stout man with a fat moustache, nodded at me sympathetically to let me know that I wasn't in trouble for being late. Very aware that thirty sets of eyes were still watching me, I walked to my seat, wishing to be swallowed up by Mother Earth.

I didn't pay much attention during class. I couldn't get the image of Brittany's face out of my mind. Her kind eyes and her sweet smile. Her perfectly aligned nose and the freckles that covered it. The way her golden bangs integrated with her eyelashes. She was perfect.

It was obvious to me that I was very attracted to her. Maybe even in love. This was an unexpected and pleasant feeling that I had never experienced before. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I thought about her and the future we may have together.

I had come to another conclusion. She cared for me. The way she looked at me was undeniably affectionate. I cherished this new feeling of being truly loved by someone. A feeling I hadn't felt since my mother passed.

I was surprised when all of my classmates got up abruptly and stood by the usual traffic of the doorway. I shook my head, picked up my things, and left the classroom.

It was lunchtime now, so I walked to the cafeteria. I picked an abandoned table in the corner of the outsized room, sat down, and extracted a brown lunch bag out of my backpack. I unfolded the tinfoil and uncovered my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I was about to bite into it when someone sat down to my left.

I looked sideways. Brittany beamed at me. I smiled bashfully and said, "Hey."

"Hey," she chuckled. "What do you have there?"

"Oh, um, nothing, just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich," I said timidly.

"_Just_ a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? San, I don't think you understand the power of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich," she grinned.

I giggled. "What?"

"You see, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich was created in ancient Egyptian times by the pharaoh himself."

"Really?" I asked naively.

"Well, no, but just go with it," she smirked.

I nodded eagerly and she continued, "So the pharaoh was hungry one day. His two absolute favorite things on earth were peanuts and strawberries. 'But how do I combine these two delicious goodies?' he thought to himself. So he had his servants create butter out of the peanuts and jam out of the strawberries. He used a knife—a wooden one, of course, because they didn't have proper silverware back then—to spread them out on two crunchy pieces of toast. And thus was created," she opened her arms widely, "the PB&J."

I let out a hearty laugh. Two girls who were walking by my table looked at me like I was deranged. I ignored them and turned back to Brittany, sniggering, "Well, now I will appreciate this peanut butter and jelly sandwich a lot more."

"Good," Brittany said, gleaming with joy.

We chatted cheerfully while eating our lunches. I couldn't help but notice, however, the incredulous glances of my peers.

After we devoured our food, Brittany brought up a new idea. "I was thinking…we should join Glee Club."

I looked at her hesitantly and bit my lower lip. She continued, "I think it would do you some good. I've heard that you're a great singer."

"How—where did you hear that?" I asked in disbelief.

She shrugged. "I don't know, just around. Come on," she grabbed my hand. The butterflies in my stomach were manic. "Let's go talk to Mr. Schuester."

We left the cafeteria and headed toward the choir room. Mr. Schuester was engrossed in his paperwork. I knocked lightly on his door, and he looked up. "Come in," he said kindly.

Brittany and I sat in the two chairs that were situated in front of his desk. I looked at Brittany uncertainly. She nodded, urging me to speak up.

"Um," I began. "I was wondering if Brittany and I could join Glee Club."

"Brittany?" Mr. Schuester said questioningly.

I motioned at Brittany. He looked at her, then at me, then back at her. "Oh," a smile formed on his face. "Of course. Brittany. Well, yes, anyone's welcome to join our Glee Club. We'd love to have you and Brittany."

I beamed at Brittany. She smiled widely back.

"Actually," Mr. Schuester continued, "We're currently holding auditions for _West Side Story_. Would you like to try out for a role?" he directed his question at me.

"Yeah, San, you'd be a great Anita!" Brittany said enthusiastically.

I turned to Mr. Schuester and nodded. "Can I audition for the role of Anita?"

"Absolutely," he grinned.

Rejuvenated, I left his office with Brittany. We were to return tomorrow morning and be introduced to the Glee Club.

Brittany and I met again after our last classes. We walked out the front doors. Suddenly, Brittany grabbed my arm, her eyes shining, and said, "Let's go somewhere."

"Where?" I asked eagerly.

"I know a cute little place in the forest," she held my hand and, together, we ran until we reached the woods.

Evergreen trees stood tall in the clear day. Without letting go of my hand, Brittany led me through the thicket, deep into the forest.

At last, we arrived at a pond. It was green and mossy, but perfect nonetheless.

I looked at Brittany. She batted her eyelashes and said, "Wanna get in the water?"

I nodded, despite the chilly air. We undressed until we were only in our bras and underwear. I shivered and hugged my arms around me.

"Last one in the water is an alien monkey!" Brittany yelped and jumped in the water, splashing water everywhere. I laughed and followed her.

The water was freezing, but I didn't care. We splashed at each other, laughing joyfully and carelessly. I hadn't been this happy in God knows how long.

Brittany sent a great wave at me. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again, she was so close to me that I had to gasp for air. She put her arms around me and looked keenly into my eyes. Then she leaned in and put her lips to mine.

It was magical. I was swept by feelings of love and desire and utopia. She pushed harder and harder into the passionate kiss. I felt her tongue on my lips and opened them to allow her to lose herself. I moaned as her tongue felt the roof of my mouth, the insides of my cheeks, underneath my own tongue.

Finally, she pulled back. She stroked my face lovingly. "You have no idea," she said, "how much I love you."


	4. Fireworks

A colossal, inky black bat was sitting on a purple throne in front of me. Agonized faces appeared in the throne, silent screams escaping their mouths. Slowly, they melted back into the violet metal, giving it the appearance of flowing water. I raised my apprehensive eyes to the bat.

Human arms were attached to his skeletal, thorny wings. His face looked like a goblin's; a crooked, elongated nose and pointy ears. He looked down at me with solidly white eyes, and stretched his mouth into a wide smile. Rotten teeth dangled from his gums.

"Hello, Santana," he said tauntingly. His voice sounded like a million chainsaws on a chalkboard.

I whimpered and looked around me. I was on my hands and knees in a swampy terrain. White eyes glared at me from all directions. There were creepy clown faces on the scrawny trees. They spun around slowly so that their chins were in the air and their crimson eyes down below. Their eerie smiles turned into ugly frowns. What is this? How did I get here?

The bat chuckled, sending chills down my back. "You don't know where you are?" he raised his eyebrows.

I tried to get up, but my hands and knees were trapped in the unyielding strength of the deep, viridian swamp. I raised my eyes to the menacing bat once again. He had a very amused expression on his face.

"What do you want from me?" I asked. I wanted to sound brave, but sounded like a mouse instead.

"Nothing but your audience," he sneered. "I have something here that may interest you…" He reached behind his warped back. A few moments later, his giant human hand returned, gripping a girl.

Tears plagued my eyes as I saw Brittany struggling to free herself. Her eyes fell on me, and she yelled, "San! Help me! Help me, San!"

I sobbed miserably, powerless. I tried to free my arms, but they only sank deeper into the muck.

The bat cackled heartlessly. "The more you fight, the deeper you will sink. You will never get your Brittany."

"Please," I wept. "Please, she didn't do anything! Take me! Take me instead!"

"But what fun would that be?" he mocked. He reached a long nail and dug it into Brittany's chest. Her scream rang through the swamp. I fought and fought against the dirt, but, as the bat said, I only sank deeper. Scarlet blood dripped from Brittany's chest.

"Please, please," I wailed as I tried to hold my head above the ground. Brittany was crying hysterically. "Pl—" Mud poured into my mouth and I struggled for air.

The bat laughed sinisterly. "Don't you see?" he bellowed. "This is your own twisted mind!"

Darkness.

* * *

><p>I gasped and shot up. I was covered in sweat and my blanket was wrapped around me as if I had been rolling in my sleep. I looked at my watch. 6:34 A.M. I shuddered and got out of bed.<p>

_This is your own twisted mind…_

I washed my face in the bathroom sink. I looked up at myself and immediately remembered that Brittany and I were supposed to meet the Glee Club today. I watched an eager smile form on my face.

I took a quick shower and ran back to my room. I opened and slammed my drawers, looking for something. There! The long-forgotten bag of make-up supplies. I looked fixedly at my face in the wall mirror, carefully drawing delicate lines around my eyes, applying eye shadow to my eyelids, spreading red lipstick on my lips.

I turned to my closet, looking for the perfect outfit. Nothing fit that category in my wide array of sweatshirts and jeans. I looked at the door. I could…but what if he's in there? Well, it's worth a try, isn't it?

I left my room and silently walked to my daddy's room down the hall. I opened the door just a tad. I sighed in relief. The room was empty.

I burst through the door and dashed into my daddy's closet. I hadn't been there in years.

Tattered shirts and faded jeans were lined up on shelves. I looked around. There they were. My mother's dresses.

I looked through them delicately. A sad smile appeared on my face as I recognized the dresses. This blue one…she wore it to a dinner party she had to attend for work. I remembered how I told her that she looked like a fairy, and the way she laughed wholeheartedly. And this pink one…she wore it on a warm summer's day. We walked around a nearby lake, hand in hand. She told me stories of her childhood.

A small sigh escaped me as I held a knee-long red dress. This was my favorite dress. My mother would wear it with a matching red hair band when she wanted to impress my daddy.

I left the closet with the dress and hair band in my hands. In my room, I undressed and cautiously put on the garment. It fit tightly and perfectly. I flattened the wrinkles, placed the hair band firmly on my head, and turned to the mirror.

I gasped. I looked so much like her. A new and transformed Santana gleamed back at me from the mirror. I was…I was beautiful.

I walked to school, with some difficulty, in my mother's red heels. When I entered the hallway, every head turned to me and every jaw dropped. I smiled confidently and walked past the students. I hadn't felt this good in years.

I turned around the corner and came face to face with Brittany. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted as she looked me up and down. I smiled at her from ear to ear.

"So what do you think?" I teased.

"I…" Brittany shook her head. She pulled me close to her and engulfed me in a fervent kiss. It seemed like forever until she drew back. She smiled at me disbelievingly. "You are the most gorgeous person I have ever seen," she whispered.

I smiled warmly and gave her a last peck on the lips. We walked together, hand in hand, to the choir room.

Mr. Schuester met us outside. He looked at the way we were holding hands. "Let me just say a few words to the kids, and then I'll let you come in," he patted my shoulder.

I was radiating excitement. Brittany raised my hand to her lips and kissed it gently.

After a few minutes, Mr. Schuester returned. "Alright, girls, you can come in."

He held the door for us and we walked into the room. Friendly faces looked up at us from the magenta chairs.

"Guys, these are Santana and Brittany," Mr. Schuester introduced us.

"Wait—what?" a tall boy with a naïve complexion asked.

The girl next to him, short and wearing a reindeer sweater and a skirt, looked at him threateningly. "This is Santana…" she said slowly. "And over here is Brittany."

"Wha—oh. Oh!" A childish smile appeared on his face. "Hi, Brittany."

"Hi," Brittany said coyly.

Mr. Schuester cleared his throat. "Um, so, Santana, let me introduce you to Artie." He motioned at a boy with glasses in a wheelchair. The latter smiled toothily.

"Artie will be directing our production of _West Side Story_. Artie," he turned to the teenager, "Santana wants to audition for Anita."

"Great!" Artie said enthusiastically. "Well, what would you like to sing for me?"

"I—what?" All of my confidence from the day's happenings vanished into thin air. "Right now?"

"Yeah, I mean, you have to get used to performing in front of people if you want to be in the play," he said reasonably.

"Um…" I looked at Brittany. She nodded eagerly and sat down in a vacant chair. "Um, okay. This is 'Someone Like You' by Adele."

I cleared my throat. Someone began playing the tune on the piano behind me, and I turned to see a red-haired man in glasses smile sweetly at me. I turned back to the audience.

"_I heard that you're settled down_

_That you found a girl_

_And you're married now_."

My voice was shaky and unconfident. My eyes darted between the faces, every one of them kind and understanding. I looked at Brittany. The love in her eyes was what made me raise my voice and sing to my fullest extent.

"_Old friend, why are you so shy?_

_Ain't like you to hold back _

_Or hide from the light_."

It was like I had this talent inside me that was just aching to burst. I could see the Glee students' awed expressions.

"_Never mind, I'll find someone like you_

_I wish nothing but the best for you, too._"

As I continued to sing, the students' expressions became thrilled. Artie's eyes were shining with joy.

"_Sometimes it lasts in love_

_But sometimes it hurts instead…_"

I finished strongly. The Glee Club cheered and hooted for me. A blonde boy with an oddly large mouth stood on his feet and clapped enthusiastically.

"And why haven't you joined us before…?" he said, beaming.

I giggled shyly and looked at Brittany. She was wiping proud tears from her eyes.

"That was amazing, Santana," Artie said. "The cast list will be posted next week."

I nodded at him and sat down next to Brittany. She leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and held my hand.

Joining Glee Club was the best decision I had ever made. I finally felt accepted. The kids (I slowly learned their names, Rachel, Sam, Puck, Quinn…) liked me. They didn't treat me like I was dirt at their feet. They were friends. Real friends.

After school was over, Brittany and I walked to my house. She spent the whole twenty minutes praising me and my singing voice. I must've been as red as my dress.

We arrived at the crimson door. Before I let her in, I ran inside to check that my daddy wasn't there. Thankfully, he wasn't. I walked her to my room and we set our backpacks down.

Brittany came up from behind me and hugged me. She moved her hands all around my abdominal area, slowly inching toward my breasts. Her mouth was breathing into my ear.

"Can I take this off?" she whispered sultrily. I nodded. Somewhere in my mind appeared the fact that I had only known her for two days. That thought was crushed, however, by the moan that escaped me as her hands massaged my boobs.

She threw me onto the bed and kissed down my body until she arrived at my privates. She looked up at my aroused face, slightly smirked, and lunged in.

It was like fireworks. I flew high up into the sky, anticipating my glorious transformation, and boom! I exploded into a magnificent sight, most pleasurable to the naked eye.


	5. A Piece to My Puzzle

I gazed up at Brittany. She was fast asleep, her chest ascending and descending rhythmically. I traced her jaw line with my finger, lost in thought.

I was bewildered. Before I met her, whenever the thought of sex appeared in my mind, I would become extremely anxious and defensive. I didn't want to have sex. With anyone.

But with Brittany…it was different. It was like she was inside my mind and could read my thoughts. She knew exactly what to do and when to stop. I tried to think of the perfect person, and all I could think of was her.

It was so incredibly easy to trust her. This was very unusual for me. Trust was really not something I handed out freely. But Brittany…I trusted Brittany from the moment I saw her.

She was the missing part of my soul that I had always been looking for. It felt like I had been building this puzzle, piece by piece. But the last piece was missing. And you look for it and look for it, all over the house, under the sofa, behind the drawers, in your games collection. And finally, after days upon days of searching, it just appears. As if an angel dropped down from heaven and placed it before you. Brittany was the last missing piece of the puzzle that was my complex and demented life.

And I loved her. I loved her unconditionally. And I knew that one day we would get married. We would have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. We would grow old together, and die side by side, hand in hand, in our sleep. I felt sure, as I lay there, that she would always be with me.

Brittany stirred. I looked at her in anticipation. Her eyelids slowly retracted to reveal her baby blue eyes. She smiled warmly at me.

"Well, aren't you the most beautiful sight I have ever woken up to," she mumbled sleepily.

I grinned and rolled out of the bed. My face reddened as I realized that I was still naked. I looked back at Brittany. She was smiling mischievously at me.

I playfully rolled my eyes and got dressed. Brittany continued to lie in bed, her eyes unfocused. Suddenly, she turned her head to me with determination.

"San, I want you to promise me something."

"What?" I asked hesitantly.

"Don't let him hurt you anymore."

"Who?" I said, even though I knew the answer.

"Your father." Brittany's face was stern.

"But…" I averted my eyes. "I mean, he doesn't hurt me…he loves me."

Brittany looked at me doubtfully. "Loves you, San? _I_ love you. That's what love is. He doesn't love you. A father who rapes his daughter doesn't love her."

"B—but," I stammered. "He doesn't. He doesn't rape me."

"San, don't lie to me. I saw the bruises and the scars."

My eyes filled with tears. I looked up and tried to stop them from flowing down my face. My knee began to shake anxiously.

"San—" Brittany looked disgusted with herself. She stood up and put her reassuring arms around me. "I'm sorry."

I sobbed into her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't have said it like that. It just drives me mad that he allows himself to do that to you."

"He doesn't try to hurt me," I sniffed. "He only wants what's best for me."

"Is that what he tells you?" she sighed. "Just, please, promise me you'll never let him hurt you again."

I didn't respond. How could I promise her something like that?

Suddenly, we heard the front door slam. I looked at Brittany, immense fear boiling up inside me.

"You have to go. Now," I whispered. She nodded and silently got dressed. As we opened my bedroom window, I heard my father's heavy boots nearing my room. Brittany gave me a quick peck on the lips and climbed out of the window.

The moment that her foot disappeared through the curtains, the door opened behind me. I turned on my heels, holding my breath, to see my daddy gazing at me. He paused, his hand still on the doorknob.

"Am I interrupting something?" he said dangerously.

"What—no, no, I was just…" I trailed off as his face remained severe. His eyes fell on my undone bed. He looked at me again, poker-faced, then turned around and closed the door behind him.

I sighed in relief. That was close. Too close.

* * *

><p>A strong wind chilled my face as I walked to school. It was a gloomy Monday morning, but I was as happy as could be. I thought about the past weekend, which I had spent with Brittany.<p>

On Saturday, Brittany took me to a nearby carnival. We rode the roller coaster and ate so much popcorn that we wanted to puke. We spent the whole Ferris wheel ride kissing and exploring each other's bodies.

On Sunday night, Brittany took me out to dinner. We went to a cute little Italian restaurant and filled our stomachs with pasta and steamy marinara sauce. It was wonderfully romantic.

I did notice, however, the glances. I didn't pay much attention to them at school; people didn't like me there anyway. But outside of school? Why do educated adults look at me so skeptically?

It must've been because I was a lesbian. They weren't used to seeing two teenage girls out on a date. People are still so old-fashioned. They think that love can only exist between a man and a woman and that only they should be allowed to marry and create a family. What a load of crap.

When I got to school, I walked to my locker and twisted in the combination. I saw something darting at me out of the corner of my eye, so I snapped my head to the right.

Brittany jumped at me. "You got it!" she screamed joyfully. "You got it! You got it! You got the role! You're Anita!"

"Whaaaaat?" I widened my eyes in disbelief. Brittany grabbed my hand and led me to the choir room. The cast list was posted on the door. I trailed my finger down the list until I found my name.

_Anita – Santana Lopez_

"Oh, my God!" I hugged Brittany. I couldn't believe it. I was going to be in a play!

"I told you! You're flawless!" She kissed me on the nose. The first bell rang, so we said our excited goodbyes and left for our classes. I walked cheerfully to my Psychology class.

My Psychology teacher, a round woman with a pleasant face named Mrs. Klope, greeted us with the usual spiel about how we must do the readings in order to pass her class.

"Alright, now that this is out of the way, we'll be starting a new topic this week. Can anyone define schizophrenia for me?" she looked at us expectantly.

Rachel Berry from Glee Club, who was sitting a few rows in front of me, promptly raised her hand. Mrs. Klope nodded at her, and Rachel began, "Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by social awkwardness, paranoia, delusions, and hallucinations. People who suffer from schizophrenia will often times fail to remember where they were or what they were doing for specific periods of time."

"Excellent," said Mrs. Klope. "Now, schizophrenics are not all the same, naturally. Each of them has his or her own habits…"

My mind wandered off into another world. I closed my eyes and imagined myself on stage, in front of a theatre full of people. I pictured the way that they will stand up for me and cheer their hearts out. It will be amazing.

We were let out of class five minutes early, so I headed to the choir room. The hallway was deserted and unusually calm. I was about to enter the classroom when I heard voices conversing inside.

"Will, are you sure it's safe to let Santana be in the play?" I heard Mrs. Pillsbury's concerned voice ask.

"Yeah, she'll be fine. That girl is a pile of talent, and Artie and I can't just ignore it. She's perfect for Anita."

"Alright, if you're sure…" I heard her footsteps approach the door. I quickly walked in the opposite direction.

"Santana?" I turned around. "Hi, how are you?" Mrs. Pillsbury smiled sweetly.

"I—I'm good," I managed.

"I'm glad. Congratulations on getting the role." She walked past me down the hallway.

I looked after her. Why did she think that it wasn't safe to let me be in the play?

Troubled, I opened the classroom door and was greeted by Mr. Schuester. I sat down and waited for the rest of Glee Club to show up.

Once they were all seated, Mr. Schue sighed and began, "As you know, Principal Figgins will not fund this play. I guess too much of this school's money goes into buying lip gloss and whatnot for Coach Sue's Cheerios," he shook his head disapprovingly. "Anyway, that leaves us in a tight and unpleasant position. I really hate to do this, but I'm going to have to ask you each for fifty dollars. That should be enough to pay for costumes and build the set."

There was a murmur among the students. I panicked. The last thing my daddy would ever give me is an allowance. Where was I supposed to get fifty dollars?

We did a read-through in class. My spirits were raised when Artie showed ecstasy at the fact that my Spanish accent was flawless.

After school, I kissed Brittany goodbye and walked home. I had a plan. It was dangerous, but I had to get those fifty dollars.

I opened the front door silently. I left my backpack and my shoes in my room and tiptoed to my daddy's room. I peeked through the crack in the door.

My father was lying on his stomach, snoring. My eyes looked around. There. His wallet sat innocently on his bedside table.

I held my breath and treaded softly across the room. Five steps left…four…two…one…

I picked up the fat black wallet. I looked through the bills. Ones… And some more ones… What did he need all of these ones for?

All of a sudden, my daddy's muscular arm had a death grip on my elbow. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yelled at me.

I tried to get away, but I was powerless under his strength. He threw his blanket off of him with his empty hand and stood tall above me.

"You tryin' to steal from me, huh? Did you really think that was gonna work?" he snarled. He threw me to the wall. I scurried to the corner, whimpering helplessly.

"I'm gonna show you what happens when you try to steal from Daddy...yeah, I'm gonna get rid of you good-for-nothin' once and for all." He opened a drawer in his table. His hand returned with a small black revolver. "I'm gonna show you…" he muttered madly as he slipped the bullets into place.

_Don't let him hurt you anymore. Don't let him hurt you anymore. Don't let him hurt you anymore._

And that's when I blacked out.


	6. The Wall

_Itsy-bitsy spider_

_Climbed up the water spout_

My eyes were closed. My arms hugged my knees and I was rocking back and forth.

_Down came the rain_

_And washed the spider out_

I hummed softly to myself. There was an odd smell in the room.

_Out came the sun_

_And dried up all the rain_

My teeth were gnawing on the insides of my cheeks. I whimpered quietly.

_And the itsy-bitsy spider_

_Climbed up the spout again_

I opened my eyes. I was still in my daddy's room. A broken lamp lay on the floor and bullet holes cracked the off-white walls.

A few feet in front of me, my daddy lay in a pool of blood. His face was frozen in rage and there was a clear hole above his right eye, as if he was shot from a close distance. The black handgun sat harmlessly in the corner of the room.

What have I done?

I tried to remember what had happened. Nothing came to me. I just suddenly regained consciousness and found myself in the serene chaos that I had created.

I noticed the anomalous smell again. It smelled like a dead animal. I opened my eyes in horror and stared at my daddy's corpse. Was he rotting already? How long had I been sitting there for?

I got up shakily. My lunch felt like it wanted to take a hike back up my esophagus. I shuddered and left the room.

What am I supposed to do? Call the police? But if I call the police, I'll sit in jail for the rest of my life. But I can't just leave him here. I licked my lips and inhaled slowly, trying to stop the tears from coming. I was so lost and helpless.

Brittany. I'll call Brittany. She'll know what to do.

I walked to my room and picked up my phone. I found her name in my contacts and pressed "Call." Please pick up. Please.

But she didn't. The phone just rang endlessly until I finally decided to put it down. My mouth was dry and my throat was parched.

I thought about Brittany. What she would do if she were in my shoes. I immediately knew the answer to that. She would turn herself into the police. She'd be too honest and too kindhearted to run away from her crime.

I raised my phone again and reluctantly dialed 911. I put the phone to my ear and listened to it ring.

"911, what is your emergency?" said a female voice.

I opened my mouth, but quickly closed it. Tears began to flow down my face.

"Hello? Is there anybody on the line?"

"Um…" I muttered.

Her voice softened. "Honey, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I…" I began to sob. "Um…I…I killed my daddy."

"Okay, darling, why don't you give me your address and we'll sort everything out?"

I gave her my name and address and ended the call. She told me that the officers would be at my house in around five minutes.

I was numb and confused. The weight of my misdeed hadn't fully sunken in yet. It was like I was watching all of this happen to another person. Like I wasn't in control. An innocent bystander.

I was appalled by the fact that I felt no remorse. I thought that I loved my daddy. I thought that I cared about him. And yet…now that he was gone, all I could feel was relief. Relief that he wouldn't be coming into my room anymore at nights to "give me love." To rape me.

It was like he had this power over me while he was alive. A brainwashing supremacy that would control me, make me believe things that weren't true. But it was different now. I saw right through his lies and his acts. He never loved me.

I heard sirens getting louder and louder as they neared my house. Before I knew it, someone was knocking firmly on the front door.

I opened the door hazily. I was taken aback when I saw a whole army of police personnel on my front porch.

"Santana?" said a thin woman in a suit softly. I nodded. She put a comforting hand on my shoulder and said, "Come, we'd like to talk to you."

She led me to the kitchen. I looked back and saw the militia storm in through the door.

She sat me down at the table and sat in the chair to my left. A brawny man with kind eyes stood behind her.

"My name's Detective Hart, but you can call me Julia. This is my partner, Detective Boon," she motioned to the man.

"But you can call me Max," he smiled compassionately.

I managed a halfhearted smile.

"So, Santana, can you please tell us what happened?" she flipped to a new page in her little notebook and stood her pen at ready.

I eyed her suspiciously. Was this just a façade to get me talking? Or was she really on my side?

She looked at me understandingly. "I know that it's hard. You've gone through something very traumatic. But I need you to trust me," her eyes bore holes into my soul.

I looked at her, then at Max. He nodded at me encouragingly.

"Um…" My eyes darted around. Where do I start? I breathed in deeply and began, "Well, I was cast in this play at school today…"

I told them how the play wouldn't be funded by the school, and that we were all asked to bring in fifty dollars. I explained to them how I had never gotten an allowance, and that my daddy would never have given me the money willingly. I described how I arrived at home and tiptoed my way into his room. How he woke up and threw me to the wall. How he brought out his gun and put in the bullets.

"Then…" I trailed off.

"Then what?" Julia said softly. I gazed at her. She had auburn hair and big, brown eyes. Her face showed nothing but sympathy.

"I don't remember," I said finally. "I…I think I blacked out. When I woke up, he was already dead."

The detectives gazed at me, deep in thought. "Okay," Max said at last. "My gut tells me you're being completely honest with us. And my gut's almost never wrong."

"We'll hear about your gut later, Max. Come on, Santana," she motioned for me to stand up.

"Where are we going?" I asked hesitantly.

"We have to take you down to the precinct. Standard procedures. But," she added, "I hardly think that it's necessary to handcuff you. You're not gonna run away from us, are you?"

I shook my head. She smiled and led me out of the house.

Blue and red lights blinded me from all directions as we walked outside. My body started shaking violently when I saw an occupied black body bag lying limply by a white ambulance.

A young man in glasses stopped the detectives. "Bullet clear through his head. Instant death. I would say he's been dead for around four hours."

Four hours? I was blacked out for four hours?

Max nodded and put his hand on my back. He and Julia led me to their car. It was faded black and looked like it belonged in the 80's.

I bent my head over and sat in the back seat. I looked at the detectives through the bars that separated the hardheaded criminals from the do-good law keepers.

The police precinct was an aged brick building. I was guided through security and down a grimy hallway. Soon-to-be-convicts were trying to wrestle their ways out of officers' grips.

We took an elevator up to the third floor. "This is our department," Max explained to me as we walked through a set of glass doors. "Special Victims Unit. We deal with minors, which is why we were called to your house."

There was a little prison area in the far back corner. Burly, heavily tattooed men cracked their knuckles in agitation as they looked at me through the bars.

Max and Julia escorted me to a room in the back. It was empty except for a table and three chairs. A long mirror covered the front wall.

"Alright, Santana...We have to talk to our captain, and we'll see where we'll go from there," Julia said as she and Max left me alone in the room.

I looked at the mirror. I knew what it was. One of those mirrors that was reflective from one side and transparent from the other. They were watching me.

I sat on one of the metal chairs. Reality finally started coming down on me. I fidgeted nervously as I thought about how I would be prosecuted and sent to prison, where I would probably be killed. I began to rock back and forth again.

_Itsy-bitsy spider…_

More than ever, I needed Brittany with me. She would know how to get me out of this mess. She would save me from the brutal hands of fate.

I felt like something was pushing at me from all sides and I was being forced to retract into this small, meaningless being. I felt like there was a wall being built around me. I was trapped. I ran and ran along the wall, but there was no opening. No crack, no chink. No way to escape. You must turn back and face your enemy, your arch nemesis—your destiny. And no matter how far you sprint along that wall, you will never sneak away from your cruel and unusual future.

The door opened and a lengthy blond man entered the room. He looked to be about forty. He smiled kindly and sat down in front of me. "Hi, Santana," he began. "I'm Dr. Pummle."

"Doctor?" I asked apprehensively.

"Psychologist. I work with the FBI. I'm just here to do a simple evaluation of you."

I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably. He looked at me expectantly, so I nodded.

"Good," he smiled. "I was told that you experienced a blackout. Or, in a more technical term, a period of disassociation. Has this ever happened before?"

I thought back to my past. I remembered every class, every lunch, every bully, every rape. "No," I said.

"Very well. Tell me a little about you. About your childhood."

I looked at him uneasily. "There's nothing interesting about my childhood."

"Oh, but I'm sure there is," he said thoughtfully.

When I didn't respond, he continued, "Tell me about your mother. Where is she?"

"She's dead," I said simply.

"How did she die?"

"She had ovarian cancer. By the time the doctors found it, it was too late."

"I understand. What was it like for you, losing her?"

My knee bounced up and down anxiously. "I don't know," I looked at the table. "It was hard."

"Did your father help you when times were difficult?"

I cocked my head to the right and rubbed it against my shoulder. I just wanted him to go away.

"What happened with your father?" he asked gently.

I looked around helplessly, trying to hold back my tears. I didn't want to talk about it. Why was he making me do this?

"Santana, I know that this is difficult. Just take your time. Tell me what happened with your father."

I looked at him. His light green eyes shone caringly.

"He…" I whimpered. "He came into my room."

"Okay," Dr. Pummle said. "And what did he do when he came into your room?"

"He…" My tears had a mind of their own and decided to rebelliously pour down my face. "He raped me," I finished.

"Okay," he said again. "This is good, Santana. You're doing very well. Was this the only time that he came into your room?"

I shook my head. He nodded compassionately.

"Tell me about other things in your life. Happier things. Is there someone special?"

A small smile formed on my face. "Yeah."

"Who?"

"Her name's Brittany."

"And she's your friend?"

I looked up at him. "My girlfriend."

A shade of understanding passed over his face. "Ah. So you're very close with Brittany?"

"She's my other half," I smiled.

He smiled back gently. "Okay. You did very well, Santana." He stood up. "Thank you for answering my questions."

He left the room and shut the door behind him. I scratched the back of my neck and looked at myself in the mirror.

My face looked old and sunken-in. There were dark circles under my eyes and my cheeks were still wet with tears.

After a few minutes, Julia came into the room. She brought me a water bottle and a muffin. I devoured the muffin and gulped down the water. Feeling somewhat revitalized, I looked up at her.

"We've contacted our prosecutor and filled her in. She's on your side. She'll ask for very low bail."

I nodded. Julia continued, "We'll take you to court first thing tomorrow morning. You'll sleep here tonight. We've got a couple of beds upstairs. Come on," she held out her hand.

I took it and followed her out of the horrid room. Julia guided me up two flights of stairs and to a room on the fourth and topmost floor. The room was filled with cots, piled up in threes.

"You can sleep wherever you'd like," she said kindly. I picked the closest one and lay down. Julia took a seat next to me.

"You're staying with me?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes. Technically, I have to watch you. But I mainly just wanna make sure that you're okay."

I smiled thankfully at her and closed my eyes, exhausted from the day's horrifying turn of events.

I imagined Brittany's hand stroking my hair, her lips kissing my forehead, my nose, my chin. Before I knew it, I was in the harmonious universe of dreams, where I could live in a world without crime, without fathers, without walls.


	7. Deep in the Bottomless Pit of Desolation

"Santana?"

Sunlight shone on my eyelids, making them blood-orange red. Someone was shaking my shoulder lightly.

"Santana, wake up. We have to take you to your arraignment."

I opened my eyes to discover a heavy-lidded Julia leaning over me. I sat up, blinking away the sleep. I squinted sideways. Max stood in the doorway, wearing his usual goofy expression. I stood up, still wobbly from the sleep.

"We'll take you down to get fingerprinted and put into our system, and then we'll go to court," Julia explained to me as she led me out of the room. Then she looked at me, paused, and raised her eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

My eyes were wide and my teeth tightly closed. I was having a hard time breathing and I could feel tears collecting in my eyes. I silently panicked as I began to slowly lose my vision. Thoughts of death and pain and terror plagued my mind.

So is this what ultimate fear feels like? I felt like a monstrous wave was advancing towards me. And there's nowhere to turn to, no way to escape. And it crashes over you in a swarm of white bubbles and sends you spiraling down, deep down, into the heart of the ocean. And you lose your ability to breathe, to think, and you know that you are about to cease to live. And you look up as you continue to sink and try to hold on to that last ray of light, of sanity. You reach out your hand and try to grab onto it, but it's gone. It's gone, and now you're in complete darkness, deep in the bottomless pit of desolation.

"Santana?" Max and Julia looked worriedly at me.

I blinked my eyes and snapped out of it. I inhaled slowly and deeply. "Sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," Max said softly. "You okay? Do you want water? Something to eat?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine," I said with a tiny voice.

Julia looked at me doubtfully. "Alright, then, let's take your fingerprints."

She guided me into the elevator and pressed the button to the ground floor. We entered a large room, filled with officers in uniform.

Max walked up to a desk. He looked back and beckoned me to join him.

Behind the desk sat a grouchy woman with a sour expression. She looked at me skeptically and said, "Name?"

I glanced up at Max. He nodded at me.

"Santana Lopez."

"Age?"

"Seventeen."

"Alleged crime?"

My eyes darted around uneasily. My bottom lip was quavering.

"Murder," Max said for me. The woman raised her eyebrows, shocked. She made a little "ooh" sound and returned to her computer.

"Put your right thumb on the pad." She motioned at an electronic pad in front of me. I pressed my thumb against it and saw a little green light pass underneath as it scanned my finger.

"Alright. Now go take your picture." She pointed at a white canvas behind her.

Max caringly put his hand on my shoulder and led me to the canvas. A man who looked to be about twenty with acne scars all over his face took my picture as he chewed his gum in a bored manner.

Now I was in the system. They had my information, they knew everything about me, and they could make me disappear into thin air if they wanted to. I rolled my head on my shoulders and heard my neck crack.

The drive to the local court only took about ten minutes. It was a looming brick building in the center of town.

We entered a wide hall that had doors all along its two walls. My shoes squeaked on the white marble floor. A young woman with closely cropped hair greeted us at one of the doors.

"Santana, this is Melinda Yule. She's your defense lawyer."

"Hi, Santana," she smiled warmly. "Your arraignment starts," she glanced at her watch, "in two minutes, so we'll talk about our trial strategy later."

They led me through the wooden door into a small court. The judge's bench sat ominously in front of a table and a podium. Rows of occupied seats filled the remainder of the room.

Melinda directed me down the aisle until we came to stand at the table. Behind the podium was a tall brunette woman in a pencil skirt. I looked up at the judge's bench.

He was an aged man with thick glasses and a stern face. He looked at me critically.

A woman in a guard's uniform called out, "Docket number 82931. People versus Santana Lopez. One count murder in the second degree."

"How do you plead?" the judge asked firmly.

I looked around. Everything was happening so quickly and I didn't know what to do. "Guilty."

"Not guilty!" Melinda said quickly. "She pleads not guilty. She has no memory of the alleged crime and there are no witnesses. She pleads not guilty."

The judge looked at me severely. "How do you plead?" he repeated.

"Not guilty," I said quietly.

"The People's voice on bail," he turned to the woman behind the podium.

"The People hold that Miss Lopez is not a danger to herself or to others, therefore we request low bail," she said.

The judge looked at her skeptically. "The defense's stand," he fixed his eyes on Melinda.

"We have no objections to the People's request," she nodded at the woman behind the podium.

"Bail is set at two thousand dollars," he pounded his gavel. "Next case."

The brunette and Melinda led me out of the room. Max and Julia, who were sitting in the benches behind us, followed.

"Hi," the brunette turned to me once the door closed behind us. "I'm assistant district attorney Barbara Hick. Melinda," she turned her gaze to her right, "Let's discuss this in my office, shall we?"

Melinda nodded. "Santana," she said to me, "we'll meet again, of course, to discuss our approach. Max and Julia will take you back to the precinct now, where I'm sure that someone will bail you out." She and Barbara said their goodbyes and walked in the opposite direction, deep in conversation.

I looked after the two women who had my fate in their delicate hands and prayed that they would treat it rightfully.

"You're in good hands," Julia said to me, as if she could read my thoughts. I nodded at her and we exited the building.

There was this idea that was bothering me. I voiced it in the car.

"Why is Barbara on my side? Why are you on my side?" I paused. "I'm a murderer."

Max looked back at me. "We're on your side because what you did is called self-defense. If you didn't act the way that you did, you would've been dead right now."

"Is that why I pleaded not guilty?"

"Yes," he nodded.

I looked down at my hands. Was there a chance that I would actually avoid prison?

I thought about how, just twenty-four hours ago, I was ecstatic at the fact that I received a role in the play. How excited I was to perform on stage in front of an enthusiastic audience. It all seemed so meaningless now.

The numbness was beginning to dissolve. I became more restless with every second that ticked by. The weight of my crime was finally starting to sink in. I felt like I was getting younger and younger with each minute. More dependant, more incompetent. More helpless. I had this sin that had I committed to deal with, and I didn't know how to overcome it. It was too great, too colossal, for this little, tiny, worthless excuse of a person.

When we arrived at the precinct, Max and Julia led me to a jail area. I looked at them apprehensively.

"I know, I know," Max apologized. "But we have to leave you here until someone pays your bail. I'm sorry."

The guard slid open the barred entrance and made way for me to enter. I gave Max and Julia one last desperate look and walked in.

There were three women inside, each more frightening than the other. They smiled simultaneously as I came into view.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here…" said a husky woman with two missing teeth. "So what did a puny girl like you do to get in here?"

I sat down in the corner of the cell and looked down at my knees. I curled them up against me and leaned my head down, silently wishing to be anywhere but here.

"Aww," another woman mocked. "The little girl is sad… What do you say we comfort her?" I heard footsteps approaching me.

"Hey!" I heard Max's voice yell. "Last time someone threatened this girl, they ended up dead. You touch her, you mess with me. Got it?"

The women sighed, disappointed, and returned to their evil thrones.

Tears streamed down my face. I wanted Brittany. I needed her. I felt like I was on my death bed, and she was the cure for my terminal illness. Only she could save me. Only she could take care of me. Only she could love me.

I was in the cell for two hours by the time the guard returned. "Santana Lopez?" he called out.

I raised my tear-soaked face. He nodded at me, "Come on. You've been bailed out."

I stood on my feet and left the ghastly cell. He walked me down the hall and through a door to the left.

I was immediately engulfed by the strong arms that I loved so much. My nose was stuffed into her shirt and I sniffed in her scent. Happy, relieved, confused, scared tears poured down my face.

"Shh…" Brittany said soothingly. "I'm here. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay."

I continued to sob into her chest. After I had cried to my heart's fullest extent, I looked up from her shirt and glanced behind her.

Mr. Schue, Rachel, and two men were watching me grimly. I drew away from Brittany, wiping my eyes, and walked up to them.

"Are you okay, Santana?" Mr. Schue asked, concerned.

I nodded. Rachel smiled at me kindly. "These are my dads," she motioned to the two men. "They said you could stay with us until they find you a permanent place to live in. We didn't want you to be thrown to some foster house."

I looked at her fathers thankfully and managed a little smile. Brittany stroked my arm lovingly.

We left the precinct. Before we entered the car, I asked to have a minute alone with Brittany. Rachel's fathers nodded at me, and I took Brittany's hand and walked around the corner of the building.

The moment that we were out of their sight, Brittany pushed me against the wall and kissed me feverishly. I needed her so much. As we stood there, tangled in each other's arms and attached by the tongues, I wanted her to melt into me, morph into my being, so that I could take her with me down to the no-longer-so-desolate pit.


	8. This Egomaniacal Bubble

You know when you feel so lonely that all you can do is curl up and cry?

_Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been_

_Lives in a dream_

And you tell yourself, "It'll get better with time," but you know that's a cruel deception.

_Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in the jar by the door_

_Who is it for?_

And you have friends, but even they begin to treat you apprehensively.

_All the lonely people_

_Where do they all come from?_

As if you were the carrier of some horribly contagious disease.

_All the lonely people_

_Where do they all belong?_

As if you were the bringer of death. The very Grim Reaper, his majesty.

_Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name_

_Nobody came_

That's how I felt. I felt like I was in this bubble. And I push and push my nails against it, begging it to pop, to let me out, to let me go back to my miserable life. A miserable but familiar life. One that I knew. One that gave me some sort of comfort. But there was this unyielding bubble in the way that prevented me from escaping this new and horrendous reality. That prevented me from communicating with outsiders. That prevented these same outsiders from reaching out to me, from assuaging my guilt. This obstinate bubble served as my prison, trapping me and my feelings altogether. My feelings, the disorientation, the anxiety, the panic, that wanted so desperately to have their liberty, were forced to linger in me, to drive me off the edge. And no matter how long you turn your damaged back to them, you know that, sooner or later, you will have to hold your head high, take in a deep breath, and face them. A task that seems so acutely impossible in this egomaniacal bubble.

_Ah, look at all the lonely people…_

These were my dreadful thoughts as I walked through McKinley High's hallway. Terrified glances were sent at me from all directions. Students purposely hurried away from me to avoid being in my vicinity. And who could blame them? There was a killer walking through their hall.

Every blameful glimpse was like a sharp knife in my abdomen. Every reproachful look, like that same knife twisted further into me. I felt impure, contaminated, infected.

I held my head down and walked straight into my AP Calc class. The moment that I entered, Mrs. Burmingham stood alarmingly on her feet. She stared at me, wide-eyed, unblinking, accusing.

I felt myself double over from the horrible sickness that I felt. Even Mrs. Burmingham, the one who was always on my side, the one who understood me, the one who called me a genius, was now tremendously frightened to be in my presence. I turned on my heels and ran to the bathroom, tears freely flowing down my face.

There were three Cheerios in the bathroom. One of them screamed as I burst through the door. My eyes met the coal-black ones of the Cheerio who bullied me, and I saw an incredible look of desperation, of pleading, in her eyes. As if she was saying, "Please. Please don't kill me."

I let out a despaired wail and dashed out through the door. I ran around the corner until I reached the end of the hallway. I placed myself in one of the corners, curled up in a ball, and wept my heart out.

A caring arm situated itself around me, swallowing me into the chest of my one, sole, true love. Brittany kissed my hair and rocked me back and forth, like a mother would her newborn baby.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"

I looked up at her. How did she know that lullabies pacify me?

Her blue eyes shone with adoration. She leaned in and gently kissed me on the lips. I grabbed onto her face, desperate for any form of love. I needed to feel like I was normal. Like I was sane.

She withdrew from the kiss and trailed her tongue across my jaw line, down my neck. I shuddered as her lips made a popping noise on my skin. This wasn't the time, or the place, but my mouth could not form coherent words to tell her to stop.

She sneaked a teasing hand under my shirt, forcing me to lean back on the wall. All of my efforts were put into holding back that one disobedient moan. Her mouth was getting lower now, and she used her right hand to lower my shirt from the top as she continued to trail kisses, getting dangerously close to my breast. Her left hand, meanwhile, had retreated from under my shirt and was making its way towards the button of my jeans.

Someone made an uncomfortable coughing sound a few feet away from us. I jolted upright and stared, wide-eyed, at an embarrassed-looking Sam.

"Hey…" He shifted his weight between his feet. "I just wanted to let you and Brittany know that rehearsal's started."

I nodded at him rigidly. He smiled briefly and walked around the corner.

I looked at Brittany and flushed deeply. She gave me one last encouraging kiss and pulled me up to my feet.

Brittany took my hand and led the quite-still-flustered me to the choir room. The Glee Club immediately hushed as we entered the room.

They each radiated different feelings. Rachel, who was so frequently perceived as completely and utterly self-centered, smiled at me in a loving, motherly way. Sam still had that awkward expression on his face, but an accepting one nonetheless. Quinn gazed at me as if I were the most fascinating creature that she had ever laid her eyes on. Finn stared at me in horrified bewilderment.

"Santana, Brittany, why don't you guys sit down?" Mr. Schue offered kindly.

Brittany led me to one of the chairs. She pulled her chair up really close to mine and put her arm around me, forcing me to lean my head on her shoulder. It was so relieving and comforting to know that someone was on my side.

"Alright…" Mr. Schue looked at us. "Santana, do you still want to be in the play?"

I lifted my head from Brittany's shoulder. Did I still want to be in the play? Did I even still want to be in Glee Club?

I immediately knew the answer to that. Glee Club gave me sanity. I was born to perform and I needed to somehow express it. And anyhow, it would take my mind off of this guilt that was flowing through my veins, boiling up inside me.

I nodded. "Okay," Mr. Schue looked at me reassuringly. "Everyone get out your scripts, we'll be starting from the top…"

I had some difficulty singing "A Boy Like That." It was a song about murder and love, and my fragile feelings couldn't handle it. Stephen Sondheim's lyrics tend to do that to a person.

All in all, rehearsal went well. The Glee students praised my voice. I don't think it was so much my talent as the fact that they wanted to let me know that they still accepted me, terrifying sin or no.

After school, Brittany and I parted ways with a tongue-full kiss. Red-mouthed, I joined Rachel, who was waiting for me on the corner of the sidewalk.

"Hey," she smiled gently. "You ready?"

I nodded, managing a little smirk. I looked sideways at her. "I never got to thank you and your dads for taking me in."

Rachel beamed at me. "Don't worry about it. We're happy to help."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Her home was a two-story, beige house with a navy blue front door. She unlocked the door and we entered a solidly white living room.

"Dads, we're home!" she called out.

"Alright, honey," one of them replied from the kitchen.

We walked upstairs to her room to put our things down. We had moved most of my belongings in the day before, and the room was incredibly chaotic.

"Come on," Rachel held my hand. "Let's go eat lunch."

We rushed downstairs and burst into the kitchen. Rachel's dads were engrossed in their cooking.

They looked up at me and grinned. The one on the left, who was cutting vegetables for a salad, was a balding man with black-rimmed glasses. The one on the right, busy adding spices to the appetizingly delicious-smelling soup, was African American and had a pleasant smile.

"Right on time," the soup-churning father said. He asked us to sit down at the table and served us each a steaming bowl of comforting vegetable soup.

I brought the spoon to my lips and tasted the broth. It was scrumptious beyond belief. I couldn't remember the last time that I had homemade food.

Rachel's dads served us a challa (possibly the best-tasting bread that had ever come in contact with my tongue) with our soup, and we all slurped happily.

Rachel told her fathers about school and the play, in which she was cast as the lead. They were so loving, so adoring. Nothing like what my father had been.

Once we were done, Rachel's dads removed the plates from the table and disappeared through the kitchen door. Rachel glanced at me, smiled, and said, "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

She exited the dining room, leaving me all alone. I glanced around helplessly as the overwhelming feeling of loneliness engulfed me once again.

I picked up my knife and poked at the bubble.

"Nice try," it cackled heartlessly.


	9. Hushabye Mountain

Have you ever watched the movie _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_?

_A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain_

_Softly blows o'er lullaby bay_

It's a story about a father who loves his children more than his eyes, more than his lungs, more than his life.

_It fills the sails of boats that are waiting_

_Waiting to sail your worries away_

This movie was my only comfort after my mother passed. Do you remember the part when all of those deserted, hopeless children are sitting in the cave?

_It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain_

_And your boat waits down by the key_

I used to wish that I was one of those children.

_The winds of night so softly are sighing_

_Soon they will fly your troubles to sea_

I used to wish that a truly scrumptious damsel would sing to me.

_So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain_

_Wave goodbye to cares of the day_

I used to wish that a father in shining armor would ride in on his white stallion and rescue me.

_And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain_

_Sail far away from lullaby bay_

My wishes never came true.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Santana, this is Melinda Yule, your defense lawyer. I know that it's been five weeks since we've spoken, but your trial was unfortunately delayed. The current set date for it is March 13th, two weeks from tomorrow. I'd like to discuss with you our strategy for winning this case, so if you could call me back as soon as possible, I'd greatly appreciate it." <em>Beep.<em>

I lowered my phone from my ear, sighing deeply. I just wanted this trial to be over.

I had been anxious and easily breakable for the past five weeks. Fears of the unknown swallowed me whole, keeping me safely in their ambiguous and indefinite stomachs. I didn't know what to expect. When I think about life in jail, my first instinct is to grab the nearest sharp object and thrust it through my lungs. It would be a quick death. I would simply drown in my blood. Much less painful than a tormenting life in prison, where I would have to deal with the queens of crime, the masterminds of felonies, the bullies of bullies.

On the other hand, I was hopeful. The People were on my side, after all. Or so they claimed. It was self-defense. It was all for the better. In their eyes, he was one less disgusting pedophile to wipe from the face of the earth.

But in my eyes, he was my daddy. Yes, I was angry. I was furious. I despised, detested, loathed him for what he did to me. For stealing the angelic purity of an innocent and fragile seven-year-old.

But he was my daddy. And there were times, before my mother passed, when he was happy. When he didn't feel the need to take out his despair on me. Times when he would take me to the park, play with me in the sand, enthusiastically push my swing. He was a different man back then. Abstinent of alcohol, drugs, and whatever else he began to use when she died. I remembered his wide, toothy smile, the adoration in his eyes when he looked at my mother. I remembered the way they would kiss, the way they would pull me in between them and crush me with their love.

There was only one to blame. This cancer. This wicked and immoral Death that claims so many lives. What would make cells just all of a sudden up and attack their own bodies? Who, in the heavens, thought to invent such a thing?

No one ever sat me down and explained to me exactly what cancer was. It wasn't until I enrolled in Biology in ninth grade that I learned the real definition of cancer. Until then, I would imagine it as tiny, deformed creatures that would flow through your veins. They would travel to the outside of your skull and, one by one, push your hairs out of their warm and comforting homes. Demented beings with crazed green eyes and plump, rosy cheeks. They infected my dreams and slaughtered my childhood.

I looked at my phone again. Melinda would ask me to relive the most terrifying moment of my life in front of a judge, a jury, and an audience. She would ask me to describe the rapes in detail. I sat helplessly on Rachel's bed, unwilling to push the "Call" button.

What if I asked Brittany to come with me? She always helped me when times were rough. She would get me through this.

I stood firmly and determinedly on my bony legs. Brittany was supposed to pick me up from Rachel's house at five. I would ask her to come with me, to help me to defeat my fears.

I looked at my watch. 4:13 P.M. I had half an hour to kill.

I left the room and walked down the wooden stairs. Rachel was sprawled out on her stomach on the living room carpet, her homework all around her. I looked at her appreciatively. She gave me my space. She knew that I needed time to be alone between four walls, just me and my own twisted thoughts.

She lifted her head and a warm smile spread across her face. "Hey."

"Hey," I replied as I sat down, cross-legged, on the floor next to her. I gazed at her, deep in thought. She deserved to know what was going on with the trial.

"I got a voicemail from my defense lawyer," I said plainly.

"Oh?" she lifted herself off of the carpet. "And?"

"And I have to go meet her to discuss the trial. She said that it'll start on March 13th."

Rachel nodded at me. "We'll be there," she said reassuringly.

I smiled gratefully at her. She was really the person that I was closest to besides Brittany.

"So…" I felt uncomfortable and wanted to change the subject. "Are you ready for the play?"

"I don't know. I'm so nervous. Aren't you?"

I glanced at her. She had no idea how absolutely petrified I was. Lima was a small town. Every single person in the audience would know that I'm an outlaw.

"I'm okay," I lied.

"You'll be great," she sensed the quaver in my words. "There's something about your voice...so strong, so raspy…it's amazing," she smiled at my embarrassingly crimson cheeks.

I looked down at my knees. I always wished that I wasn't so awkward around people. Why can't I just accept a simple compliment like normal people do?

"Thanks," I managed.

Brittany arrived at around 5:03. I waved goodbye to Rachel and allowed myself to be led down the sidewalk by Brittany's commanding hand.

"Britt?"

"Yeah?" she looked at me adoringly.

"My defense lawyer called me and told me that I need to go to her office to prepare for the trial."

"Okay." She paused. "Do you want me to come with you?"

I nodded earnestly.

"Well, call her, then. Let's go there right now."

"Right now?" I rolled my wrist uneasily.

"Don't you want to get this over with?"

I did want to get it over with. I wanted to get this whole trial over with.

"Okay, I'll call," I extracted my phone from my black purse, found Melinda's number, and pressed the green button.

The phone rang for so long that I almost gave up. Finally, a voice sounded from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

I looked nervously at Brittany. She nodded encouragingly.

"Melinda?" I asked quietly.

"Santana?" her voice softened. "Hi, did you get my message?"

"Yeah…" I pulled my shoulder blades back and cracked my back. "Can I come in right now?"

"Of course," she said kindly.

Brittany pointed at herself.

"Can I bring my girlfriend with me?"

"Your girlfriend?" She hesitated. "Um, sure."

I ended the call and Brittany guided me through the residential streets and into the diminutive metropolis.

Melinda's office was on the second floor of the court building. The structure seemed much more ominous at the early hours of the night.

We ascended two flights of marble stairs and looked for the door that had Melinda's name on it.

It was the seventh one on the left. I mustered up my courage and knocked lightly. There was some commotion inside as someone hurried to the doorway.

The door opened to reveal a baggy-eyed Melinda. Her short hair stood in disorganized spikes.

"Hi," she said as she moved aside to invite us in.

Dr. Pummle, the psychologist who evaluated me that day at the precinct, sat inside at an elongated table.

"Hi, Santana, how are you?" he asked gently.

"I'm okay," I replied coyly. I glanced at Brittany. "This is my girlfriend, Brittany. The one that I told you about."

He looked puzzled for a moment. He was probably just trying to recall our last conversation. Then a peculiar smile spread across his face.

"Oh, yes. Hello, Brittany," he said calmly.

"Hi," she returned a little smile.

"Okay, Santana, Brittany, why don't you guys sit down and we'll discuss this?" Melinda walked to the opposite side of the table and took a seat next to Dr. Pummle.

I pulled out a chair and sat down. Brittany followed.

"Alright…" Melinda looked through her papers. "So let me just explain to you the procedure of the trial first," she looked up at me for consent.

I nodded and took Brittany's hand. She stroked my fingers softly.

"The first part of a trial is selecting a jury," Melinda explained. "We've already done that. My job was to pick jury members who seemed like they wouldn't have any bias with the event in question. On March 13th, we'll begin the trial with opening statements. First Barbara's, and then mine. You don't have to do anything for this. Then the prosecution will present their witnesses, and Barbara will call Dr. Pummle and either Julia or Max to the stand. Dr. Pummle will explicate his assessment of you and the detective will recall what happened when he or she arrived at your house. Then I will have a chance to cross-examine them, so that they will be able to further clarify points that will benefit us. Next, I will bring in my witnesses. This is where you come in. I will ask you to describe the day of the event in detail. Once I'm done, Barbara will cross-examine you. Don't worry," she added as she observed the terrified expression on my face. "She's on your side. It won't be too bad. After this, Barbara will have her closing argument, followed by mine. Then the jury will leave to deliberate, and we'll find out whether you're found guilty or not."

I gripped onto Brittany's hand desperately and held my breath, trying to restrain my obnoxious fear. Melinda looked at me with pity.

"We're going to try to make this as least painful as possible for you," she said supportively. "It should be a very quick trial."

I blinked and exhaled slowly. I couldn't wait for this painlessly hurtful torture to be over.

"Alright. I'm going to ask you the questions that I will present during the trial. Just answer them completely honestly and with as much detail as possible," Melinda shifted her papers. She straightened her neck, gazed at me, and began.

"Where were you in the morning of Tuesday, January 24th?"

I glanced at her anxiously. "Just answer the question as truthfully as possible," she said soothingly.

Brittany squeezed my hand. "Um…I went to school."

"And what happened at school?"

"I, um, I found out that I got a role in the play."

"What was the complication with getting a role in the play?"

I gazed up at the ceiling. "We each had to pay fifty dollars to help raise funds for the performance."

"What did you do when you found that out?"

"I went home after school and…" My eyes darted around restlessly.

"And?"

I rubbed my right foot against my left. "I went to my daddy's room."

"Why did you go to your father's room?"

I scratched my head obsessively. "Because I wanted to take the money from his wallet."

"Why didn't you just ask him for it instead?"

"Because he would've never given it to me."

"What happened when you came into your father's room?"

I bit my lip. "He woke up."

"And?"

"And he grabbed my elbow and threw me to the wall."

"And then what happened?"

My nails were clawing at my arms. "He…" I paused.

"Just take your time, Santana," Dr. Pummle said serenely.

"He brought out his gun and put the bullets in," I said quickly without taking a breath.

"And then?"

"I don't know," I said quietly. "I think I blacked out."

"What is the next thing that you remember?"

I thought back to that horrifying night. "I remember being on the ground and hugging my knees. Then I looked up and saw him lying there."

"Was he dead?"

I whimpered silently. "Yes."

"And what did you do?"

"I left the room and called the police. They arrived five minutes later."

"Good," Melinda looked pleased. "From there, we will have the detectives' accounts. If you answer me like this during the trial, everything should roll along smoothly."

She set me free with an encouraging pat on the back. Dr. Pummle wished me and Brittany luck, still with that odd and dreamy voice.

We left the office and strolled out of the building.

We were walking down the sidewalk, past parked vehicles, when Brittany suddenly turned to me. "Let's go somewhere."

"Where? Britt, it's already dark."

"I know, but we're together, we'll be okay."

I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably. I guess she's right.

"Come on," she grabbed my hand and we ran down the streets, past the suburban area. We turned right and sprinted into pure and untamed wilderness.

We climbed up a small hill. When we got to its miniature peak, Brittany sat down and pulled me into her lap. I leaned back into her, felt the cool, relaxing breeze on my face, and forgot all of my worries.

"Can we stay here forever?" Brittany kissed my hair.

I wished that we could. Stay here forever, away from the troubles, away from the torture, away from the misery. Stay here forever, build a house from candy, have a big wedding, raise two wonderful, beautiful children. Stay here forever with the love, with the lullabies, with our very own little and modest Hushabye Mountain.


	10. Crabby Reflections

I have this nightmare.

It began to invade my dreams after my mother's death.

I'm in a solidly scarlet world and I'm standing in front of this grand fountain.

In the center of the fountain, there's this gargantuan crab.

And all around this crab, there are millions of these other little tiny crabs.

So little and so many that they look like great crimson waves in a stormy sea.

And as I stand there, my mother appears.

And she walks toward the fountain, eager to explore.

And I yell to her, beg her not to get too close.

Because I know that if she gets too close, she will be swallowed up by the crabs.

But she doesn't listen to me.

She arrives at the edge of the fountain and leans over, curiously observing the countless creatures.

And she falls in.

And I run to her.

But no matter how far I run, I never get to the fountain.

And I watch her be engulfed by the crabs.

By the cancers.

And first her torso disappears, then her hips, then her legs.

Then her feet.

And I know that I will never see her again.

My mother is mercilessly snatched from me.

Just like that.

* * *

><p>I woke up to find cold sweat glistening on my tan skin. I gaped up at the ceiling as I realized that this was it. Today was the first day of performance.<p>

I shuddered unpleasantly and looked sideways. Rachel was sleeping soundlessly beside me.

I silently climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I walked to the bathroom and turned on the light, only to find myself reflecting in the mirror.

If it was even possible, I was skinnier than ever before. My bones stuck out in odd places. There was so little meat on my face that my cheekbones bulged out, my skin stretched tightly over them. I reached a hand to my chest. My ribcage was easily recognizable under its thin crust.

I wasn't anorexic. I don't think. Because I didn't crave. It wasn't like I had to restrain myself from eating. I just didn't have the desire to consume food.

Brittany frowned upon it. She deeply worried about me. She would make me eat large meals whenever we were together. It was irritating, but I wasn't angry with her. I knew that she was doing it for me.

I sighed and brushed my teeth. As I scrubbed, I looked back up at myself. My eyes, deep in their sockets, gazed back grimly at me.

I choked on the toothpaste as I watched the tips of my reflection's mouth lift into an eerie smile, which I definitely did not feel on my face. I gawked, open-mouthed and toothpaste-dripping, at it. This wicked Santana's smile grew even wider to reveal a healthy set of milky-white teeth. She flung her head back and let out a spine-chilling laugh. Then she gazed back down, stared me straight in the eye, and said, "Boo!"

I dashed out of the bathroom, eyes wide and teeth clenched. I had an extremely difficult time inhaling the oxygen that my brain so desperately needed so that it could let me know that this wasn't real. Reflections don't have minds of their own. They don't just smile back at you like that.

But mine did.

Deeply disturbed, I returned to Rachel's room to find her sitting up in her bed.

"Hey," she squinted at me. When she saw my face, she asked, "You okay?"

I blinked several times and nodded my head rigidly. She seemed unconvinced, but simply shrugged it off and got out of bed.

After getting dressed and eating a small breakfast (or, in my case, leaving it untouched), we grabbed our backpacks and left for school.

"Are you nervous?" Rachel asked hesitantly as we strolled down an abandoned sidewalk.

"For what?" I scrunched up my nose uneasily.

"For the play."

"Oh." I had completely forgotten about it. "Um, yeah," I confessed. "Yeah, I am."

"Me too. I mean, I've performed in front of an audience dozens of times, but this has to be perfect. Maria was always my dream role, and I just can't screw it up."

I knew that I should respond, but I had nothing to say. I was jealous of Rachel, whose biggest worry was whether she would get roses thrown at her or not.

When we arrived at school, I waved Rachel goodbye and headed to my AP Calc classroom. It was no longer my favorite class. Mrs. Burmingham was distant, fearful, cold.

I walked in with my eyes staring fixedly at the floor and hurried to my seat, trying to make myself as unnoticeable as possible.

"Santana—"

I looked up, astounded. Mrs. Burmingham's mouth was slightly open, her eyes somewhat narrow as she tried to find the right words.

After a few moments, she gave up. She sighed, shook her head, and made do with, "Good luck with the play today."

"Thanks," I said quietly to my desk.

The day went by in a haze. I could not get the image of the cackling reflection out of my mind. Before I knew it, school was over and I was wandering through the deserted hallway to the choir room.

The Glee Club darted around excitedly as they looked for missing pieces of costumes, hair curlers, pink lipsticks. I made my way to the clothes rack and pulled out a flaming red dress.

Familiar arms hugged me from behind. "I love this dress on you," Brittany whispered in my ear. I turned to her and gave her a quick peck on the lips. We walked to the bathroom, where Brittany helped me to put on the tight dress.

I wanted to look at myself in the mirror, but I was petrified that my reflection would act against me again. I sneaked a quick look. An apprehensive Santana peeked back at me. I straightened my back and gazed at my reflection.

It was sad, really. The dress was, unfortunately, elastic, which meant that every bone poked out clearly and prominently. Brittany watched me, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"You're so skinny, San," she said miserably.

I shrugged my feeble shoulders and turned away from the ghastly reflection. "Come on," I grabbed Brittany's hand and we returned to the choir room.

Mercedes did my hair as Quinn's hands moved expertly across my face, shading in and drawing lines.

Eight o'clock came around much too quickly. A horrible feeling of nausea settled in my stomach.

"Alright, guys," Mr. Schue called us over. "We've worked really hard on this play, and it's gonna pay off. You guys will be great!"

We put our hands together, lowered them unanimously, and brought them back up with an excited cheer, "Our play is preferred!" (Which I later learned to be a line from William Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.)

Everyone ran out of the room, hugging each other enthusiastically. I waited until they were all gone, then doubled over, tears cascading down my face.

_Empty spaces_

_What are we living for?_

I can't do this.

_Abandoned places_

_I guess we know the score_

I can't confront all of those accusing, critical faces.

_On and on_

_Does anybody know what we are looking for…_

I straightened my head and took in a deep breath. The show must go on.

And so it did. Everything went smoothly and as planned. I became more confident as the time ticked by, and, at one point, actually believed that I would make it through this night.

That is, until we reached "America."

My number one direction for this song was to communicate with the audience. This was a comedic piece; eye contact with the spectators was imperative.

"Puerto Rico,

My heart's devotion,

Let it sink back in the ocean..."

I risked a glance at the audience. Boy, did I regret it.

Hundreds of faces looked up at me in disgust. My voice lost its confidence as I continued.

"Always the hurricanes blowing,

Always the population growing…"

They knew.

"And the money owing…"

Murderer.

"And the sunlight streaming…"

You deserve to rot in hell.

"And the natives steaming…"

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

"I like the island Manhattan…"

_Inside my heart is breaking_

_My make-up may be flaking_

_But my smile still stays on_

"Smoke on your pipe and put that in…"

They were all out to get me. I could see it in their eyes. They couldn't wait to get their hungry hands on me. I was the epitome of everything that they loathed the most.

That nausea was really starting to cause a problem now. I feared that if I opened my mouth, vomit would come pouring out.

Puck held onto my elbow caringly, looking me straight in the eye.

_The show must go __on..._

I sneaked a quick look at the audience again. Their faces were contorted in furious hate.

I cupped my hand over my mouth and dashed off stage. I did not stop until my face was buried deep in the toilet.

I threw up for what seemed like hours. It just kept coming and coming. By the time it stopped, I felt weak beyond belief and my face was drenched in tears.

I stood up on my shaky legs, walked to the mirror, and gazed at myself.

"Better luck next time, huh?" mocked my very _crabby _reflection.


	11. The Worm, His Honor

**A/N: I'm assuming that most of you have never heard of the song that I incorporated into this chapter, "The Trial" from Pink Floyd's _The __Wall_. You can listen to it at (FF won't let me put the name of the site, but it's the one everyone goes to to watch videos) /watch?v=4fa7AtI1msk if you'd like to get a better idea of Santana's feelings during the trial. **

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

><p>When faced with the question of their biggest fear, most people would respond with 'heights' or 'small spaces' or 'spiders' or 'death.' Rational fears; or, at least, as rational as fears <em>can<em> be.

But I say 'worms.'

I was ridiculed for it in elementary school. We had a project once in fourth grade. We were each given an earthworm in a glass container. The student who kept his or her worm alive for the longest time was given extra credit in the class.

Mine died the same day that it was given to me.

I made sure that it was tightly trapped in its container and put it as far away from my room as possible. I curled up under my blanket for the rest of the day, unable to function because I knew that there was a worm in my vicinity.

I can't really explain this fear. I don't know what triggered it or why it's there. I just know that I dread leaving my house when it rains, because that's when the slithery creatures writhe out of their muddy holes. And if I absolutely have to leave the house, my eyes will be plastered onto the ground as I hurry down the sidewalk, hysterically searching for the evil invertebrates. And when I see one, its body wriggling slowly in synchronized S shapes, I feel like my blood is drained from my body. My vision goes dark, my breath is snatched from my hungry lungs, and all I know at that moment is that I need to put as much distance as possible between myself and the vile being.

I guess I'm frightened that it would snake its way into my body. That I would feel it wiggling uncontrollably in my throat, my stomach, my privates. That it would lay its eggs in me and that a whole colony of worms would make my body their convenient home. That it would sneak into my skull and slip into my brain through one of its crevices. That it would speak for me and make me perform actions against my will.

That it would control me.

* * *

><p>I gazed at myself in the mirror. I was wearing one of Rachel's formal outfits. A high-collared white shirt with a ruffled front peeked out of a striped gray blazer, and a matching tight pencil skirt confined my horrendously thin legs.<p>

The door of Rachel's room opened and I turned my head to see Brittany, also in formal clothes, looking at me with a sad little smile on her face.

She walked to me, hugged me from behind, and rested her head on my shoulder. I cupped my hands over hers and leaned my head back into her, desperately absorbing all of the relaxation that she was emitting.

"You'll be fine," she murmured softly in my ear. Petrified tears rebelliously swam down my face.

"Oh, no, San, no, don't cry," Brittany turned me around in her arms and wiped the salty tears from my cheeks. She leaned in and placed her supple lips to mine as our noses breathed in deeply together.

We stayed in that position for a while. Brittany's arms holding me to her, my hands on her shirt, our mouths tenderly pressed together. No tongue, no teasing. Just pure love passing between two completely broken people.

Finally, we broke apart. Brittany grazed her thumb on my cheek, her eyes glistening with adoration. "You'll be fine," she repeated.

I nodded and managed some sort of a smile. She held my hand and led me out of the room and down the stairs, where Rachel and her fathers were waiting for us.

We drove to the court in a smooth-riding black Cadillac. I rested my head on Brittany's left shoulder while Rachel stroked my arm in a kind, motherly way.

I thought I would be okay, I really did. My fears began to leave me during the ride. But the moment that I saw the court building, they all mercilessly returned, deeper and more difficult to deal with than before.

Brittany squeezed my hand reassuringly as she felt my body tense. "San, they're on your side. You're not gonna go to jail."

I knew that. But the thought of having to relive everything that happened to me in front of so many people crushed me.

We walked down the main hallway until we saw Melinda, Max, and Julia.

"How are you holding up, Santana?" Max's eyes shone with concern.

I couldn't bring myself to speak, so I just nodded miserably.

"She's just scared," I heard Rachel say from behind me.

"I know," Julia put a caring hand on my shoulder. "But we're here to help you out, okay?"

I nodded again as I tried my hardest to hold back the never-ending, irritating stream of tears.

They walked me into the ominous courtroom. This one was larger than the arraignment court, and there were two tables instead of one table and a podium set in front of the judge's bench. The jury's box stood innocently in the far right corner. I gazed around. Panic overwhelmed me as I watched dozens of heads turn to me.

The ones sitting to my left, the defendant's side, smiled at me sympathetically. The individuals sitting to my right, however, almost bared their teeth in rage.

Julia's hand, which hadn't left my shoulder, encouraged me to continue to walk. I obeyed silently, keeping my eyes fixed on the marble floor.

"Alright," Melinda turned to us. "Only Santana and I are allowed to go past this point," she motioned to a little wooden barrier.

"But—" I couldn't hold back the tears anymore as I realized that Brittany wouldn't be sitting next to me, comforting me, during the trial.

"Shh," Brittany held my head to her shoulder, caressing it delicately. "I'll be right here behind you, okay?"

I sniffed and nodded reluctantly. Melinda held my elbow and led me to the table on the left.

I thought I was going to go crazy sitting there, waiting, waiting, waiting. My feet tapped a little dance on the ground. It took almost an hour for the jury to stroll into their box through a back door.

They looked at me in interest. I gaped back at the twelve people who would decide my destiny.

"Please stand until Judge Hotchkins is seated," said a burly guard who was standing by the judge's bench.

Melinda gestured for me to get on my feet. I followed her instructions.

Judge Hotchkins appeared to be the same judge from my arraignment. His thick glasses masked his eyes, leaving his face expressionless.

After he was seated, he nodded to Barbara, who had taken her seat at the table to my right. She stood on her legs, walked around her table, and turned to the jury.

_Good morning, the Worm, your honor_

_The crown will plainly show_

_The prisoner who now stands before you_

_Was caught red-handed showing feelings_

_Showing feelings of an almost human nature_

_This will not do_

I was shaking violently and blinking frantically in my seat. My mind was not registering anything that was being said. She couldn't have said that, could she?

_Crazy_

_Toys in the attic, I am crazy_

_Truly gone fishing_

_They must have taken my marbles away_

My right hand was twisting my left in my lap. I hummed quietly as my daddy's blameful face appeared before me.

_You little shit, you're in it now_

_I hope they throw away the key_

_You should have talked to me more often_

_Than you did, but no!_

There were all of these things flying around the courtroom. Little skeletal, pink creatures with bulging, crazed eyes and screechy voices. I yelped and put my hands over my head as they soared down at me.

_Crazy_

_Over the rainbow, I am crazy_

_Bars in the window_

_There must have been a door there in the wall_

_When I came in_

_Crazy, over the rainbow_

_She is crazy_

I rocked back and forth, trying to make the creatures go away. The judge was speaking now, seemingly to Barbara. His voice was deep and raspy.

_The evidence before the court is_

_Incontrovertible, there's no need for_

_The jury to retire_

_In all my years of judging_

_I have never heard before_

_Of someone more deserving_

_Of the full penalty of law_

He turned his head and looked at me incredulously. I whimpered gently as he opened his mouth to speak.

_Since, my friend, you have revealed_

_Your deepest fear_

_I sentence you to be exposed before_

_Your peers_

_Tear down the wall!_

I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted the voices and the creatures and the people to leave me be. The palm of my hand came diving down on my head in a smack that must've killed half of my brain cells.

_Tear down the wall_

_Tear down the wall_

_Tear down the wall_

Dozens of hands were on me all of a sudden, restraining my arms and holding down my feet. I couldn't hear, I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe. All I knew was that I was being cruelly sucked down into the scorching earth by a million and a half wormy fingers.


	12. In a World of My Own

_Cats and rabbits_

_Would reside in fancy little houses_

_And be dressed in shoes and hats and trousers_

_In a world of my own_

I slowly opened my eyes, only to be blinded by the paleness of the hospital room. I blinked hazily.

_All the flowers_

_Would have very extra-special powers_

_They would sit and talk to me for hours_

_When I'm lonely in a world of my own_

I tried to move my arms up, but there were metal rings that were restraining my wrists. I leaned up and saw that I was handcuffed to the bed.

_There'd be new birds_

_Lots of nice and friendly howdy-do birds_

_Everyone would have a dozen bluebirds_

_Within that world of my own_

What happened? I tried to recall. I remembered entering the courtroom, waiting for the judge to walk in. I remembered how Barbara stood up to give her opening statement. But I had no memory of anything that happened after that.

_I could listen to a babbling brook_

_And hear a song that I could understand_

_I keep wishing it could be that way_

_Because my world would be a Wonderland_

The door of the room opened to reveal a lengthy, dark-haired man in a lab coat. He smiled at my apologetically as he walked to my bed.

"Sorry about the handcuffs… We didn't want you to try to hurt yourself again."

I lowered my eyes in shame. I tried to hurt myself?

"How long have I been here?" I asked quietly.

"About fourteen hours," he made a few notes on his clipboard. Then he lifted his gaze back up to me and said, "There are a couple of people waiting outside for you, should I let them in?"

I nodded glumly. He turned on his heels and left the room. A few moments later, the entire Glee Club, Max, Julia, Melinda, Dr. Pummle, and Brittany all walked gravely into the room.

Brittany immediately made her way to my bed and sat on its edge, leaning in to kiss me softly on the cheek. "You okay?" Her piercingly blue eyes glimmered with concern as she looked deeply into my helpless ones.

I nodded somberly. The Glee Club gathered around my bed, their eyes caring and understanding.

"How are you feeling, Santana?" Julia sat in the chair to the right of my bed.

"I'm okay," I replied gently.

"Judge Hotchkins wanted to make this trial as least painful for you as possible, so we continued a little further without you. Dr. Pummle and Julia have both already given their statements," Melinda explained. "So, when you're ready, we'll call the jury back to the court and get you on the stand so that we could get this trial over with."

I blinked anxiously as a tremor passed through my body. Brittany delicately stroked my arm. I turned my eyes to her and the question passed unsaid between us.

"I think it's better if you just get this done with as soon as possible, San," she said soothingly.

I raised my gaze back to Melinda. "Can we continue right now?"

"Yes," Melinda seemed relieved. Max stepped forward and removed the handcuffs from my wrists. I rubbed them slowly as I sat up in my bed.

Everyone except Brittany left the room so that I could get my clothes back on. She helped me out of the hospital gown and I stood completely naked before her.

She looked at me and inhaled deeply. Unable to resist the temptation, she leapt forward and embraced me in her strong arms, kissing me passionately. Her tongue cruised across my bottom lip, and I allowed her access into my starving mouth. Starving for her, starving for love, starving for sanity.

She finally pulled back and leaned her forehead on mine. "We'll get through this, okay? We'll get through this together."

She helped me back into Rachel's tailored suit and we opened the door.

The Glee Club was gone, but the detectives, Melinda, and Dr. Pummle were waiting patiently outside of the room.

"You ready?" Max said softly.

They led me down the elevator and out of the automatic glass front doors. The detectives kindly offered to drive us. Julia made sure that my seatbelt was tightly fastened on me, as if I was a four-year-old child that desperately needed some guidance. She got behind the wheel and drove us off.

The hospital turned out to be only five minutes from the court. My muscles tensed as we walked down the looming hallway once again.

Brittany leaned to me and kissed my cheek gently. "It's almost over."

This time, when I walked into the courtroom, every face, whether on the right or left side, was gazing at me with woeful sympathy. I chewed on the inside of my left cheek as Melinda led me to my seat again.

The jury filed in back to their box. We stood on our legs unanimously as Judge Hotchkins entered the court, his facial expression much kinder and more considerate than before.

"Ms. Yule, your witness?"

"I call Santana Lopez to the stand," she motioned for me to stand.

I walked shakily to the stand, which stood gloomily to the right of the judge's bench. I sat down in the wooden chair.

A blonde guard stood by me with a bible in her hand. "Place your left hand on the bible and raise your right hand." My teeth clenched tightly as I did as I was told. "Repeat after me: I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God."

My voice trembled as I repeated the line. Brittany caught my eye from the front bench and nodded encouragingly.

Melinda cleared her throat and walked to me. She asked me, slowly and deliberately, the very same questions that she had presented in her office two weeks ago. As I answered, my eyes kept darting back and forth between her and the twelve intrigued faces that peered at me from the left.

"And the rest," Melinda turned to the jury, "you've heard from detective Julia Hart." She nodded at Barbara, "Your witness."

Barbara used the table to help herself off of the chair. Her heels tapped on the floor as she made her way to me.

"Miss Lopez…" she began. "Can you please explain to us what your father did to you?"

I inhaled sharply and held the air in until my face reddened. Tears ached to depart from my eyes.

Barbara took notice in my reaction. "We'll start at the beginning. Where is your mother?"

"She's dead," I said through gritted teeth.

"How did she die?"

I raised my shoulders and cracked my neck. "Cancer."

"What happened on the night of her funeral?"

I whimpered quietly as a single tear slipped down my cheek. "My father came into my room."

"And what did he do when he came into your room?"

My breathing was shallow and unstable. "He raped me," I said inaudibly.

"Please speak a little louder, Miss Lopez."

"He raped me." Tears shamelessly gushed down my face.

"Was this the only time that he raped you?"

I shook my head.

"Please say your answers so that they can be recorded, Miss Lopez."

"No," my voice cracked.

"How often did he rape you?"

"Umm…" I looked around helplessly. "A couple times a week."

"Did he ever willingly stop raping you before he was killed?"

"No," I stared down at my anxious hands.

"Okay. What is the last thing that you remember on the night in question? Your last thought?"

I raked my brain for that final moment before my world tumbled upside down. He got out the gun, slammed the drawer, slipped the bullets in…

"I don't want to die."

* * *

><p>Brittany cuddled me in her lap as we waited for the jury to return. Barbara and Melinda had already given their closing arguments, which I wasn't really able to pay attention to because I was swamped by panic and dread and terror. Time aimlessly ticked by as I held my breath in petrified anticipation.<p>

Brittany quietly hummed a familiar tune above me as she caressed my hair, occasionally tucking in her chin to kiss me lightly on the head.

At last, I was told to return to my seat. The room became as soundless as a graveyard as the jury wandered back into their box. They gazed at me reassuringly.

Judge Hotchkins turned to them. "Jury, what is your verdict?"

The Foreman, a thin man in his thirties with square-rimmed glasses, rose to his feet. He unfolded a paper in his hands and read, "The jury has voted that the defendant is not guilty by reason of mental illness."

Every trace of fear was forgotten as I stared at him incredulously. Mental illness?

The judge brought down his gavel powerfully.

That's it. The trial was over. I was free.

The relief that should've swept me failed to arrive. Melinda patted my back as she stood up and walked down the aisle.

"Wait!" I ran after her. "What did he mean, not guilty by reason of mental illness? I'm not mentally ill!"

She looked at me mournfully. "Dr. Pummle?"

He appeared by my side within seconds. Melinda nodded at him, "Santana would like to know why the verdict was not guilty by reason of mental illness."

He gazed at me as if it truly hurt him to say what he was about to. "You're schizophrenic, Santana."

"I'm _what_?" My eyes widened in disbelief.

"You're schizophrenic. You're paranoid, you've had at least two blackouts that we know of, you hallucinate—"

"I don't!" I said defiantly. "I don't hallucinate!"

Dr. Pummle looked absolutely miserable. He raised his eyes from the ground, and said, "Your girlfriend, Brittany."

"What about her?"

His eyes squinted in pain. "She's a hallucination, Santana. Only you can see her."

I gawked at him. What the hell was he talking about? "You're lying." He tried to put a caring hand on my shoulder, but I smacked it away. "YOU'RE LYING!"

I sprinted out of the courtroom as fast as I could as hysterical tears rained down my face. I didn't stop until I came to a deserted, secluded hallway.

I fell to the ground and bawled helplessly. It couldn't… It couldn't be true…

I heard footsteps nearing my place on the floor. The comforting arms that I loved so much slipped around me, and I sobbed weakly into Brittany's shirt. "They're saying that you're not real…"

It took her a while to respond. When she finally did, her voice was unsteady and broken. "That's because I'm not, San."

"What?" I raised my puffy eyes to her.

"I'm a figment of your imagination. You made me up because you needed someone who would sympathize with you. Someone who would love you."

I wept miserably as I gaped at her beautiful and perfect face.

_Never mind, I'll find someone like you…_

I thought back to the day we met. How she appeared out of nowhere, already wired to be deeply in love with me. How Finn hadn't noticed her when we walked into the choir room for the first time. How easy it was for me to trust her. To give myself to her completely, body and soul.

I leaned in and desperately kissed her. What would this look like to an uninformed onlooker if he were to walk down this hallway? He would see a starved, fragile girl embraced in the invisible arms of a lost lover.

I pulled my head back. "I have to go now," Brittany said lamentably.

"Why?" I whimpered.

She brushed my cheek with a loving thumb and gazed genuinely into my eyes. "Because you need to get better."

She gently stood up and walked down the hall. I moaned quietly in agony.

When she reached the end of the hallway, she paused and turned her head back to me. Her brilliant blue eyes shone angelically under her long blonde bangs.

_I had hoped you'd see my face_

_And that you'd be reminded that for me_

_It isn't over_

She straightened her head forward, inhaled deeply and calmly, and disappeared around the corner.

I never saw her again.


End file.
